


And I Know It Would Kill Me

by romanticallyinept



Series: 100 Songs for MCU [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Peter Parker, Boys Kissing, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Confessions, First Kiss, First Time, Fix-It of Sorts, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Humor, Identity Porn, Idiots in Love, M/M, Marks, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Pining, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter is of ambiguous age, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Rough Sex, Safer Sex, Sassy Peter, Tony Feels, Tony thinks about science during sex, Top Tony Stark, baggage, hence the udnerage warning, that's a genuine tag and I love it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 11:37:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14715293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticallyinept/pseuds/romanticallyinept
Summary: “You’re going to make me develop a Pavlovian response to the words ‘next time’,” the kid says, voice rough. Tony makes a face.“Soft sciences have absolutely no place in my bedroom,” he says, crossing his arms on his chest. “If you’re going to say another guy’s name, and least make it a name Irespect.”Peter rolls his eyes. “Newton,” he says. Tony nods.“That’s acceptable.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [И я знаю, что это убьет меня](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15348048) by [SpiritHallows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiritHallows/pseuds/SpiritHallows)



Tony has always had ways to differentiate his dreams from reality. 

As a kid, his metric was Howard. In his dreams, Howard would touch his shoulder, nod in approval, flash the smallest of smiles in Tony’s direction. If Howard was anything other than annoyed or disappointed, Tony knew he was dreaming.

In college, his dreams were filled with unsolvable problems - equations that wouldn’t balance, variables that wouldn’t cancel. So if he spent more than fifteen minutes on a homework assignment, Tony knew he was dreaming.

After Afghanistan, Tony didn’t really sleep. But when he did, when he had to, he knew that the grit of sand between his teeth was a product of his imagination. Stark Tower was spotless. If there was sand in his mouth or dirt on his clothes, Tony knew he was dreaming.

After Thanos, Peter was in his dreams. And Peter was not there when he was awake.

It took six months for them to fix things, six months to make everyone re-materialize from dust and nothingness. And Tony hoped that the fix would change his dreams, make im stop waking up in cold sweats with guilt riding high in his chest, but they didn’t change. He still dreamed about Peter.

Only now, in his dreams, Peter called him “Tony."

He could be breathless with pleasure (Tony’s favorites, and also the ones that made him hate himself the most), so angry his words were like knives, or casual and carefree like a kid his age was supposed to be, but no matter what he was, _how_ he was, it’s always “Tony” in his dreams.

Sometimes, hearing “Mr. Stark” is so disappointing Tony can taste it. And then he feels so guilty he chokes on it.

It doesn’t help that the kid doesn’t blame him at all. His hero-worship complex stops him from seeing all of Tony’s very obvious faults, including the fact that it’s Tony’s fault the kid was _dead_ for six months. But Peter doesn’t see any of that, and Tony doesn’t know whether to be grateful or heartbroken. 

Right now, the kid is passed out on the couch in Tony’s workshop with a book on particle physics laying open on his chest. He’s drooling on the suede, and Tony should be upset because the couch costs more than Peter’s entire college education will, but he’s not. Peter’s happy and safe, and lately, that’s all Tony’s been concerned about. 

The kid shifts, and the book falls to the floor. He doesn’t wake up, but his eyebrows draw together a little, and as Tony watches, Peter curls in on himself, making little distressed noises. It’s not the first nightmare the kid has had while sleeping in the workshop, so Tony doesn’t think twice about going over to the couch and putting a hand on Peter’s shoulder, shaking him gently. 

“Wake up, kid.”

Peter whines, and the sound tugs at Tony’s heart. He nudges him again, and that’s when Peter’s eyes fly open, his hand going to wrap around Tony’s wrist. The kid’s grip is strong, almost desperate, and his voice, when he speaks, is wrecked.

“Mr. Stark?”

Not a dream, then. Tony nods, but Peter is still holding on to him, so he can’t pull away. “Yeah,” he says. “You were having a bad dream.”

Peter nods, slowly relaxes his death-grip on Tony’s wrist. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly, sitting up and rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep. I was reading…” He looks around for the book. Tony picks it up off the floor. 

“It’s fine.” Tony hands the book over. “You’re a teenager. Your main objectives in life are supposed to be eating, sleeping, and getting laid.”

He winces, but Peter laughs, shaking his head. “I’m more focused on the SAT and saving the world,” he says, and he’s casual about it, like it’s not the big fucking deal it is. Tony wants to kiss him. He doesn’t, though. Not dreaming.

Instead he scoffs, waing a hand. “You shouldn’t be worrying about standardized tests. Where do you want to go? Berkeley? Princeton? MIT? Say the word. I’ll have an acceptance letter in your lap by Wednesday.”

Tony’s not sure what day it is, but still. He’ll make it happen.

Peter bites his lip. “You don’t have to pull strings for me, Mr. Stark. I already got accepted into a community college. That’ll be fine for the…”

“Uh, _no_.”

Tony folds his arms, shaking his head. Thoughts about dreams and kissing Peter vanish - now, he’s only thinking about the kid’s future. “You are not going to a community college. You’re my protege. It’ll reflect badly on me. At the very least, you’re going to a four-year, preferably one that’s actually nationally ranked.”

Peter frowns. “I can’t afford - ” he starts, but Tony reaches over to over his mouth. 

“If I can afford it, you can afford it. That’s how this works. Got it?”

Peter says something, but it comes out as a mumble. His lips tickle Tony’s palm; Tony pointedly doesn’t think about it. He drops his hand.

“I want to stay in New York,” is the first thing out of Peter’s mouth. 

“We can move your aunt wherever you end up going,” Tony answers. The kid’s got almost no family left. Tony understands why he wants to stay close. 

But the kid just shakes his head. “No - I mean, that would be awesome, and I’d definitely appreciate it, sir - “

Tony breathes, blinks, and doesn’t focus on the word.

“ - but she’s not the only reason I want to stay.”

Tony refocuses, frowning down at Peter. “If it’s a girl, I’m going to banish you from my workshop,” he says. And then, “Same goes if it’s a guy. Or otherwise identified. Stupidity is equal-opportunity.”

Peter laughs, the sound bright and warm. Tony wants to bottle that sound so he can have it after Peter leaves. “It’s not a girl,” he says, and he’s rubbing the back of his neck. Nervous. Like Tony could possibly have a leg to stand on, even if he wanted to give the kid shit.

“Listen,” he says, moving to sit on the couch’s armrest. “No one is worth wasting your brain on a second-rate education. I don’t care how in love you are or how great they are. In a few years, you’ll thank me. Trust me.”

Peter shrugs. “I guess,” he says. ‘It’s not like we’d even happen. I gave up on even hoping for that. I just… want to be close to him. You know, Mr. Stark?”

Tony knows. Tony has looked into buying buildings close to every college Peter might want to attend. Every college that’s worthy of him, at least.

“I forget how hard it is to be a teenager,” Tony says. “Look, if this guy isn’t giving you the time of day, he’s not worth it. Not woth it," he repeats, before Peter can object. “If he doesn’t see how much of a good decision you are, that’s his loss, and you’re not responsible.”

Peter looks down at the book in his hands, absently flipping through the pages. He stops at one, and Tony recognizes his own handwriting in the margins. Under it, in a different ink, are newer notes. Peter’s notes. He aches.

“The thing is,” Peter says, and his voice is quiet. “He knows all that. I mean…” The kid takes a breath and looks up at him. “He knows _me_. All of me. The Spiderman thing, the family thing, the…” He gestures at the room around them. “ _This_ thing. I’m just not on his radar like that.”

Tony is not jealous of the longing in Peter’s voice. He _is_ jealous of the fact that someone else knows everything about Peter. And he’s just plain upset that, whoever the idiot is, he’s not using every means possible to make the kid happy.

“So put yourself on his radar like that,” Tony says. He regrets it. Why is he encouraging the kid to find someone? It’s not like that will be the final straw, the last boundary that will make him stop _wanting_. “I keep telling you, you have to go after what you want. No one is going to - “

His next word is a mumble, because Peter’s mouth is pressed up against his own. It’s an awful kiss - just lips, too much pressure, no _heat_ \- but it still pulls a wounded noise from Tony’s chest. That little sound is all he can manage before Peter pulls away.

“Oh my _god_ , Mr. Stark. I’m so sorry. Fuck. Fuck! I shouldn’t have done that. I…”

All Tony hears is “Mr. Stark.” Not dreaming, then. This is real. And that means he can’t just lean in and kiss Peter and push him back onto the couch and…

“... I’ll just go, I’m sorry.”

Peter stands, so Tony does as well, reaching out to grab the kid’s wrist before he can take off. “Whoa, there,” he says, and Peter spins to face him. And, _fuck_ , the kid looks miserable. His cheeks are flushed (shame), his eyes watery (sadness), and his breathing rapid (fear?). _Fuck_. Peter is _scared_. Tony can feel him shaking. So he does the first thing his head tells him to and pulls the kid in close, wrapping his arms around him. Peter doesn’t fight it - he just sags against Tony and buries his face in his shirt.

“Easy, kid,” Tony murmurs, reaching up to brush his fingers through Peter’ hair. “Deep breaths. No panic attacks. You’re okay.” His voice is steady. His heart is not. It doesn’t matter, though. He needs to make sure Peter is okay.

They stand there for a few long moments, Tony stroking Peter’ hair, Peter refusing to look up. Tony realizes, slowly, that he has to be the adult here, and the thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

“So,” he says, and he feels the kid tense up. “What I said earlier still stands. Even _the_ Tony Stark is not worth jeopardizing your future for.”

Peter laughs, sniffs wetly against Tony’s chest. He goes to pull back, and Tony lets him, though he’s still ready to grab the kid again if he tries to run away. He looks better, but there are still tears in his eyes and Tony hates himself for being the reason for them.

“You don’t need to let me down easy, Mr. Stark,” Peter says. “I’m sorry. I know you have better things to do than - “

Tony raises a hand, shaking his head. “First of all, I get to decide my priorities, and I decided you’re one of them. Deal with it. Second, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. I’ve been _People’s_ sexiest man alive five years in a row. Crushing is embarrassing, but normal.”

Peter blushes. Hard. 

“And on top of that,” Tony continues, even though he shouldn’t. “I’m fifty kinds of fucked up that you don’t need to deal with on a relationship level. It’s bad enough to get this much exposure, even at arm’s length. You should have relationships that suck because neither of you know what you’re doing, not because someone has more baggage than Alaska Airlines.”

The corner of Peter’s mouth quirks up, almost a smile. “You aren’t the only one with baggage, sir.” He lifts his arms, showing off the scar from the spider bite, like that compares in any way to the years of bad decisions Tony has behind him.

Tony sighs. “You just need to find your Lois Lane. Or, maybe Lewis Lane in your case.” Peter’s blush deepens. “But the baggage you’ve got is definitely not enough to warrant…”

“I remember dying.”

Tony’s jaw slams shut. The mood in the room shifts instantly - it’s heavy, oppressive. Tony can feel his throat working around half-formed apologies, but he can’t find the air to voice them. Peter takes his silence for something it’s not and looks down, kicking at the ground. 

“I’m not complaining or anything, sir. I’m happy to be here. I just…” He waves a hand at the air, one of Tony’s habits he’s started picking up. They’re spending too much damn time together. “That’s what I have nightmares about. Dying. Coming back. _Not_ coming back.” The kid’s voice cracks, and he coughs, glancing up at Tony.

Tony feels like he can’t breathe. 

“How am I supposed to explain all that to anyone without them wanting to walk away?”

 _That_ is what Tony should do. Walk away. Peter’s smart - he doesn’t really need Tony’s mentoring, especially not after he starts college. He’ll do just fine without Tony there holding his hand. But Tony wants to be there, holding his hand, and that is where the problem is.

“The superhero life doesn’t lend itself to deep, lasting relationships,” he says. “Doesn’t mean they’re impossible. Just… hard.”

Peter nods. He’s got his arms wrapped around himself, hunched over like he’s trying to make himself small. It’s heartbreaking. Tony’s self-control bends a little more.

“You know I’m not relationship material,” he says. He really should stop, but now he’s just trying to make things better, to make it sound less like a rejection and more like the favor it is. “Come on. I’m sure you’ve read enough tell-alls about me. I’m a jerk. I’m self-centered and egotistical and the only way I know how to show affection is by spending money. And on top of that, I’m really fucking old. And going grey.”

Peter looks up, meeting his eyes. “Thirty years older than me,” he says, and shrugs, like three decades are nothing. “I don’t care. You should keep dyeing your hair, though. Grey will make you look like a mad scientist.”

He can’t help it. Tony chuckles, shaking his head. And Peter flashes a smile at him, a genuine one, and Tony’s self-control finally snaps. 

“I’m not saying no,” he says, watching as the confusions on Peter’s face slowly gives way to wide-eyed wonder. ‘You’re an adult. I’m not going to make decisions for you. Just… think about it. A lot.”

He expects the blinding grin on Peter’s face. He doesn’t expect to be pushed up against the nearest wall (he forgets, sometimes, how strong the kid is) and to Peter in his face, eyes dark.

“All I’ve done is think about it,” he says, and Tony’s stomach flips due to a weird mixture of guilt and arousal. Peter’s hands are on his shoulders, but Tony doesn’t reach out to touch. Not yet. He needs actual confirmation that Peter at least thinks he wants it.

“You were the last thing I saw before I - “ The kid bites his lip. “And the first thing I wanted to see when I came back. I know I want this.” He hesitates, and then his hands drop to Tony’s hips. “I want you, sir.”

The sound Tony makes is sinful. He groans, eyes closing as his head knocks back against the wall. Peter is going to kill him, and they’re both going to love every minute of it.

His hands come up to settle on Peter’s waist.

“Do you promise to shoot higher than a community college?”

Peter grins. “No pushing around administrators to get me in somewhere.’

Tony wants to kiss him. He waits. 

“One more thing. When you come to your senses about how you deserve better than what I’m giving you, don’t waste time. Cut and run, kid. Don’t let me waste more of your time.”

“Okay,” Peter says, and Tony hopes that when the day comes that Peter realizes he made a mistake, he won’t hate Tony too much for going along with it.

“Can I kiss you, Mr. Stark?”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “I think we’re way past ‘Mr. Stark,’ don’t you?”

Hopefully, his dreams will catch up. If not, then Tony’s okay with being fooled. He doesn’t remember the last time he wanted anything so bad, for so long.

Peter smiles, all pretty eyes and shy dimples, and Tony doesn’t wait for him to ask again. His hand comes up, slipping into Peter’s hair and pulling him in close. Then, they’re kissing, and Tony is determined to make this one better than the last.

He’s got a lot of tricks, and he pulls out every one. His thumbs brush over Peter’s jaw as he licks into his mouth, demanding and possessive. And Peter just opens up for him, keening in between breaths, his fingers bruising on Tony’s hips. They’ll leave marks, and Tony couldn’t be happier. He wants to be able to press his own fingers into the bruises later and remember.

He shifts slightly, sliding his knee in between Peter’s legs. He swallows the gasp the kid makes, drops his hand to the younger man’s hips to rock him forward. And he can feel how hard Peter is in his jeans, can feel how close he is just from making out. 

Peter breaks the kiss. He’s panting, cheeks flushed. _Fucking gorgeous_ , Tony thinks. And then he says it, because it’s true. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he says, voice rough, and Peter blushes harder, closing his eyes. 

“I’m - “ he starts. He’s floundering for words, so Tony helps, moving Peter’s hips forward against his thigh. This time, the kid _moans_ , dropping his head to Tony’s chest. “Mr. St-tark, I’m not gonna - “

“Last?” Tony finishes. Helpfully. Peter groans against his chest, nodding. Tony’s tempted to press his thigh up, rock Peter’s hips down, make the kid come in his pants right there. Very tempted. “Not a bad thing. Kinda want to see it.”

He kinda wants to do a lot more, too, but that can wait.

“Okay.”

Tony expects a couple of shy movements, expects Peter to test the waters before he throws himself into it. But, as always, the kid just defies expectation. He puts his arms up around Tony’s neck and presses his face against the hollow of his throat, breathes in, and then he’s rocking his hips forward, rutting against Tony’s thigh. His breaths are sharp and ragged, punctuated with breathy little moans, and tony is so turned on it _hurts_ , but he doesn’t move. Peter is chasing his own pleasure, and Tony’s can’t stop watching.

He leans down, brushing his lips over the shell of Peter’s ear, and the kid trembles, whines, fists his hands in the collar of Tony’s shirt. Tony kisses his ear and hums softly. “Almost there,” he murmurs. “Come on, sweetheart.”

Peter makes a soft sound. His hips stutter, jerk forward, and then he’s shaking apart in Tony’s arms, still grinding against his thigh as he rides out his orgasm. And all Tony can do is watch and rub a soothing hand up and down his back while the kid comes down.

Slowly, Peter’s fingers release Tony’s shirt. He shifts back, probably going for casual, but the kid’s jeans are tight, and now they’re soaked through with come. Peter winces, groans when the fabric moves over his groin.

“Might want to lose the pants,” Tony suggests.

Peter looks up, flashing Tony a grin. 

“Only if you lose yours too, _Tony_.”

And Tony decides he doesn’t care if he’s dreaming. He’s going to milk these moments for all they’re worth and try to memorize how Peter looks when he sex-flushed and happy.

He points to the elevator. “Go. Now. We need a bed.”

For a moment, Peter looks confused. Then the expression melts away in a soft smile. 

“Yeah.” He reaches up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess that’s a better place for a first time.”

The thought of being the first person to see peter like this shouldn’t make Tony’s dick twitch in his pants. It does. He groans, closing his eyes. “We don’t have to - “

“No! I want to.” Peter is crowded in his space again, all eager eyes and demanding hands. “Please. I’ve been thinking about you fucking me for way too long.”

Tony’s brain conjures up the appropriate image: Peter, on his back, thrusting two fingers into himself while he moans Tony’s name. It’s something Tony wants to see. Next time.

“Bed,” he says firmly, and Peter just grins.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter is needy.

It’s not a bad thing, not by a long shot. It makes Tony feel better about how much he wants, how much he enjoys all the little touches Peter is asking for, because he can justify it, even if the justification is weak. But he doesn’t think about it too much. Instead, he thinks about how Peter still hasn’t taken his damn clothes off.

They’re in Tony’s room. On Tony’s bed. And Tony is the one pressed back into the sheets while Peter kneels over him, eyes dark and hungry. He’s just looking, fingertips running delicately over Tony’s skin like he’s a shiny new research paper.

The kid’s curious fingers finally make their way to his dick, and tony hisses at the sudden touch. “Tease,” he breathes. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t be rushing this, should keep his damn mouth shut instead of…

“You like it.”

Peter’s voice is even, confident. It’s exponentially better than his uncertain stutter, and Tony thinks about modeling the head levels of Peter’s different voices, gathering empirical data on what pitch and tone made Tony want to fuck him the most.

“Are you thinking about _work_?”

Peter’s voice is offended. Low on the heat scale. “I’m easily distracted.” Tony replies, shrugging one shoulder. “Fundamental flaw. Most definitely not a reflection on you.”

Peter rolls his eyes, but Tony can feel his relief. Those nimble fingers go back to his cock, stroking him this time, and Tony hums, pushing up into the friction. It feels _good_. It’s nowhere near enough to get him off, and it doesn’t even rank in the top ten best handjobs he’s had, but it feels good. And it makes heat curl low in his gut when Peter licks his lips and says, “Can I blow you?”

Tony’s head thumps back against the pillow. He groans. Asking shouldn’t get him hot. With anyone else, it would be a turn-off. And yet, his hips make a little aborted thrust of their own accord, punctuated with a quiet little moan that feels like it’s torn out of Tony’s chest. “Whatever you want,” he says. “Seriously. Whatever you want. However you want. Okay?”

Peter’s eyes flash bright, and tony doesn’t get a chance to say anything else before the younger man’s lips are wrapping around the head of his cock. 

Peter’s mouth is hot and wet and plush and perfect. He swipes his tongue across Tony’s slit, dragging a moan out of the older man’s throat and making Tony wonder if he’s learned from practice, from experience. The Peter glances up at him like he’s checking in, and Tony decides that, at the very least, the kid’s done his research. 

Peter bobs his head and takes a little more of Tony’s length into his mouth. His tongue is doing things, pressing and swirling, and it’s better than Tony wants to admit. He reaches out, slipping his fingers into Peter’s hair, and the kid fucking moans at the touch. Tony can feel the vibrations all the way up in his chest, and it’s too much and not nearly enough all at once.

“I’m only good for one,” he says, and his voice is more ragged than it has any right to be. Peter glances up, pulls off Tony’s cock and licks his lips. He’s already visibly hard again, trapped in the confines of his wet underwear and tight pants, but he’s not complaining. Tony remembers being his age, when a stray breeze was sometimes enough to get him going.

“What do you want?” he prompts, and Peter just opens and closes his mouth a few times. 

“You?” he answers.

Tony chuckles, and then reached up to grab Peter before he can get the wrong idea. He tugs the kid down into a kiss, and maybe Peter hadn’t been expecting to be kissed after he’d had a dick in his mouth, but Tony couldn’t care less. He drags his teeth against Peter’s bottom lip, earning himself a soft, desperate little moan.

“You’ve got me, kid,” he says, and he wants the endearment to sound wrong. It doesn’t. It makes Peters smile, too. “But you’ve also got a lot of wiggle room, Lucky for you, I’ve got a lot of experience with wiggling.” He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s saying, but it makes Peter laugh, and Tony can’t regret anything that does that. “So. Ideas?”

Peter raises an eyebrow. “Uh, lots,” he says, a slight flush rising in his cheeks. His hand makes a vague, waving gesture, and Tony gets it.

“We’ll save ‘fancy’ for next time,” he says, and the look he gets from Peter is both grateful and hopeful.

There’s got to be a special level of hell reserved just for him, Tony thinks.

He shifts, sitting up so he can press Peter back against the bed. The kid goes willingly, flopping back before propping himself up on his elbows, watching. And Tony has never been able to resist putting on a show.

He slides his hands up Peter’s thighs, hooking his fingers over the waistband of his pants. The button and zipper go easily, and then Tony tugs both pants and underwear off in one go. “Shirt,” he says, and Peter scrambles to obey.

And then he’s naked, spread out underneath Tony. His chest is heaving a little, and his dick is hard and red, arched up over his stomach. “I am definitely getting that inside me at some point,” Tony says, because sex kills whatever excuse for a filter he has.

Peter says, “Oh my god,” and his hps buck up, trying for friction that isn’t there. And, sue him, Tony loves all those little noises, the little involuntary reactions. He grabs Peter’s discarded underwear and cleans the kid up, and then he’s stretching himself out over Peter, pressing his mouth to the delicate skin under his ear while he wraps a hand around Peter’s cock.

“You’ve thought about it, haven’t you?” he murmurs, stroking Peter with just barely-there, teasing pressure. “About fucking me. Maybe bent over one of the tables in the workshop?”

Peter groans. Tony takes that as a ‘yes’.

“I’m a noisy bottom,” he continues, twisting his wrist to flick his thumb over Peter’s leaking slit. “But I’ve got a sneaking suspicion you’d like that.” He drops his voice an octave, nudging his nose against Peter’s neck. “Would you like that?”

Peter twists and whimpers and nods almost frantically. 

“Next time, Peter,” Tony murmurs, and Peter spills over his hand with a strangled sob. 

Tony strokes him through it, pulls away before the friction becomes unpleasant. He wipes his hand on the sheet, and then turns to look at Peter, who’s staring up at him with awe written all over his face.

“You’re going to make me develop a Pavlovian response to the words ‘next time’,” the kid says, voice rough. Tony makes a face. 

“Soft sciences have absolutely no place in my bedroom,” he says, crossing his arms on his chest. “If you’re going to say another guy’s name, and least make it a name I _respect_.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Newton,” he says. Tony nods.

“That’s acceptable.”

Peter reaches for him, and Tony complies, letting himself be pulled down into a kiss. Peter is more relaxed, and it’s infinitely better than the first one. Tony lets himself lean into it, just enjoying the moment: the feel of Peter’s mouth, his skin under Tony’s hands, the faintest hints of pressure where his dick is pressed up against the kid’s hip.

“You haven’t gotten off,” Peter says, when the kisses turn slow and lazy. He reaches up, fingers brushing through Tony’s hair, and it’s sweet and intimate in a way that makes Tony’s chest tighten up.

He shrugs. “Not a priority,” he says. And it’s not. He’s only half-hard, now, and he’s more than content to just be in Peter’s space, trading lazy kisses until they fall asleep. He winces, internally - he’s _gone_ on this kid.

But Peter is not content. He pouts, fucking _pouts_ , like he does when Tony won’t let him look at a new prototype. It gets him what he wants then - Tony has no doubt it’ll get the kid what he wants now, too.

“There something you want?” he asks. Peter nods. “Are you gonna tell me, or should I start guessing?”

Peter flashes a grin, but this one is more hesitant, more uncertain. 

“I could show you?”

Tony manages a “Fuck, yeah,” and then Peter is scooting out from underneath him. The bed is big, but there still isn’t far for him to go - all the same, he’s most definitely out of reach of the nightstand, which he’s looking at almost longingly. Tony waits.

Peter sighs. “Lube?” he asks, the tips of his ears stained pink.

Tony is merciful and doesn’t tease him. Instead, he leans back and pulls open the nightstand drawer, grabbing the bottle of lube that’s inside. It’s edible and flavorless, and he hands it to Peter, lets his fingers drag across the kid’s thigh afterwards.

Knowing what Peter is going to do does absolutely nothing to prepare Tony for it.

He watches, transfixed, while Peter slicks his fingers, using too much lube but it’s okay - it slides down his arm and Tony’s gaze follows the path it takes. He wants to lick it off.

 _Next time_ , he thinks, and his dick twitches. Fucking kid was right about Pavlov.

Peter shifts, and Tony’s eyes follow his movements as he gets on his hands and knees. The kid’s biting his lip, nervousness creeping back in to his features, and that just won’t do.

“You’re killing me,” Tony says, and Peter looks over at him. “Do you have any idea how you look right now? Fuck.” He reaches down, palming himself, and Peter’s eyes track him movements. Then he moves, one hand going behind him.

Peter groans when he presses the first finger into himself.

Tony dies a little.

Peter is in his bed, naked, fingering himself open. But Tony remembers the transitions, remembers Peter calling him “Mr. Stark.” He knows this isn’t a dream.

The urge to touch becomes almost overwhelming. Peter’s mouth is hanging open, his lips red and wet, and he crooks his finger just right and moans and Tony stops trying to stop himself.

He slides forward, reaching out to slide a hand over the curve of Peter’s ass. “Can I?” he asks.

Peter nods. “Please.”

There’s enough lube dripping down over Peter’s hole that Tony just has to run his fingers through it. Peter shudders at the touch, drops his hand to the bed and fists his fingers in the sheets. 

“Need you,” he says, so quiet Tony barely hears him. 

He pushes two fingers past Peter’s tight ring of muscle, soothes him with a hand on his back when he keens at the stretch. “I got you, sweetheart,” Tony says, and then he crooks his fingers just right and Peter cries out.

“Tony! Fuck, _please_!”

Tony adds a finger, faster than he should, but Peter just hisses and pushes back against his hand, fucking himself open on Tony’s fingers. 

Tony knows he should keep at it, should ad a fourth and finger-fuck the kid until he’s a messy puddle of slack muscle, but Peter is demanding and Tony is hard, and he just _wants_ so damn much.

He slips his fingers out, tries to ignore the way Peter whines. His fingers are too slippery to get into the nightstand on the first try, and the few seconds it takes for him to wipe his fingers off seem to drag on forever, until he finally manages to get a good grip on the handle and snag a condom out of the drawer.

He rips it open with his teeth, slips it on, and then he’s pulling Peter up, the kid’s back pressed against his own chest. He leans down to mouth at the column of Peter’s neck while he lines himself up.

“Relax,” he says, and Peter tips his head back against Tony’s shoulder and closes his eyes. 

Tony puts one hand on Peter’s hip and hooks his other arm around his chest, holding him close, and then, slowly, pushes forward. 

Peter’s breath catches. Tony freezes, but the kid just makes a noise and cants his hips back, and suddenly Tony can’t breathe because he’s buried to the hilt in Peter’s tight heat, and Peter’s hand is sneaking up behind him to tug on his hair.

“Our first time,” he says, arching his back, grinding back against Tony. “Not mine.”

 _Oh_.

Tony doesn’t feel bad about how hard he snaps his hips forward, doesn’t feel the need to stop and check on Peter when the kid gasps. He lets go, and Peter falls forward onto his elbows, pushing his ass back against Tony while he looks up over his shoulder.

“You’re a shit,” Tony says, punctuates his words by setting a pace that has tim nailing Peter’s prostate multiple times per second. Under him, around him, Peter is twisting and moaning, taking everything Tony is giving him.

“Got impatient,” the kid says, voice breathy, and Tony doesn’t get it until Peter follows it with, “Wasn’t hard to pretend it was you.”

Tony’s hips stutter and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from coming right there. “How long?” he asks. He’s not sure he wants to know the answer, but he needs it. He cants his hips up just right, and Peter whines. And then the kid laughs, shaky, under his breath.

“Two years. Give or take.”

Tony folds himself over Peter’s back, reaching around to stroke him. Experienced or not, he’s still a teenager, still on a hair-trigger, still sensitive. The kid bucks forward, alternating between trying to fuck into Tony’s hand and trying to get him deeper inside.

He comes with a sharp cry when Tony sucks a mark on his neck.

He tenses, and the pressure of Peter tensing around him is almost too much, almost painful. Almost. Tony manages three more shaky thrusts before he’s filling the condom, panting against the crook of Peter’s neck. 

He doesn’t know if it makes him feel better or worse that he’s not the kid’s first - he does know that his libido is making a valiant effort to get him going at the thought of Peter getting fucked while thinking about him. 

He pulls out, ties off the condom, tosses it in the general direction of the trash before letting himself fall backwards. Tomorrow-Tony can deal with it. Right-Now-Tony is fucked out and exhausted.

Peter shifts, and Tony moves his arm to the side, making a very obvious space for Peter to crawl into if he wants to. He does.

The kid’s head fits against his shoulder comfortably, and it’s easy for Tony to turn towards him, throw an arm across Peter’s waist and pull him in closer. They smell like sex, sweat and come, and Tony wrinkles his nose.

“You need a shower, kid.”

Peter looks up at him, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile.

“Next time,” he says.

* * *

Tony’s dreams don’t change.

He tells Peter over breakfast one day. The kid’s acceptance letter to MIT is on the fridge, held there by a Spiderman magnet the tourists buy, and it all feels so right that Tony’s chest aches.

Peter just shrugs.

“Probably because I’m a dream come true, Tony.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Jake Owen's "Alone With You"
> 
> I told myself I wasn't going to ship this ship. I told myself that the last time an Avengers movie came out, and I ended up shipping Clint/Pietro SO HARD, man.
> 
> Anyway I'm trash and here's your porn. Prompt me with songs/pairings if you wanna.


End file.
